The Last Suit You'll Ever Wear
by pseudo-vulture
Summary: The worlds only Consulting Detective joins MiB. Post-Reichenbach.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this appeared out of nowhere when I was watching Men In Black earlier. I was just wondering how Sherlock would react to aliens generally. So, Then I wondered what would happen if Sherlock Holmes joined the super secret agency known as Men In Black. And this is how it starts**

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So America had turned out to be just as boring as England. Yes, different people to deduce but all with the same petty motives.

The man at the desk was cheating on his wife with the one of the waiters, the woman at the table next to his had just thrown out her boyfriend and now was regretting it.

BORED.

The only real change was the quality of the tea.

He tried another sip in case it had miraculously got better. Ugh. This terrible excuse for a drink was nothing compared to what John and Mrs Hudson had made.

He missed them but Moriarty's men were still around, waiting to kill him as soon as he went back to England. He couldn't even make a place for himself here. The hardcore followers his nemesis were everywhere.

Sherlock left money for the awful, unfinished drink on the table then walked out into the freezing New York morning. He tightened his scarf and wandered down the street.

Bored.

Homeless, 24 year old drug addict, finally thrown out by his parents when the rehab hadn't worked. Sherlock pushed past him before he could try and beg some money off him. The only drug habit Sherlock would ever fuel was his own because he wasn't addicted, just bored.

Sherlock carried on walking, vaguely hoping for something interesting.

Sounds from an alley. Shouting. African-American male, fairly young. Male, American, quite old, smoked a lot until recently.

And another voice. Strange accent that covered over anything that he could deduce.

Sherlock edged silently to the entrance of the alley.

And his eyes widened.

What the hell was that? It was at least seven feet tall with six arms. Two of them held some kind of strange gun, pointed at both of the Americans. They both wore plain black suits and were pointing equally as peculiar weapons at the creature, whatever it was.

This was far from boring.

So far, none of them had noticed Sherlock yet. He crept closer to them. He slowly took his phone from his pocket and took some photos of the men and the creature.

So what was going on here?

The creature was yelling in a language that Sherlock couldn't identify. It wasn't like anything he'd heard before. The older man was perfectly calm but his partner, obviously lower in whatever organisation from the way he was stood, was getting agitated. So whatever the creature (probably an alien, Sherlock had decided) was saying was something disagreeable. But was it disagreeable in a "you haven't paid your tab" way or more of a "I'm going to destroy your planet" way. Probably the latter by the way the alien was raving.

The alien looked away from the men for a second and saw Sherlock lurking in the opening to the alley.

Damn.

The thing charged at him but at the last second one of the men fired his weapon and the monster exploded.

There was blue stuff all over him. Thankfully it didn't feel corrosive. Just very... Blue.

"What was that?" Sherlock asked curiously, quickly recovering.

"Good question. And," the older man said, getting a pair of sunglasses and small cylinder with a red light at the top from his jacket. "If you could look into the end of this, we'll give you an answer..."


	2. Chapter 2

**So this is a new chapter, then. Bit of a long one for me. Please review, I need to know if I'm getting characters right and that sort of thing. Thanks.**

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Sherlock woke up and groaned. His head was killing him.

What day was it? He turned and checked the clock by the side of the hotel bed. Tuesday. The last thing he remembered was yesterday morning in the cafe. There were no fresh marks on his arms, so that couldn't have been the reason for the mental block.

He leaned out of bed and looked at his phone. Three missed calls from Mycroft. Underneath the phone, a business card with MiB stamped into the card. '504 Battery Drive, 9am' scrawled on the back. A man's handwriting, probably older.

Sherlock tried to remember the events of the previous day. He vaguely remembered taking a photo of something but couldn't remember what. What could have caused him to forget? Could his day have been so boring that his mind had deleted it on its own?

He sat up and looked at the photos on his phone. Nothing from the previous day. He knew he'd taken photographs but they'd disappeared.

It was 8:15. If he rushed, he could get to the address on the card on time and find out what was going on here.

* * *

Sherlock stared at the man explaining to them what they were here for. He was using a lot of long words, Sherlock observed, but not really saying anything in particular. It seemed to satisfy the surrounding idiots though. These military fools weren't even as intelligent as John and Sherlock's only friend wasn't exactly a genius. He rolled his eyes then turned his focus back to the man who was obviously in charge of whatever organisation was based here. MiB, presumably, although he'd never heard the abbreviation before. Definitely founded by the government but probably separate now, judging by this man's god complex and attitude.

Back to the man. Definitely the boss. Heavy lines around his eyes from lack of sleep and the sort of look in those cold eyes that Sherlock had seen in John and so many other old soldiers. Having seen things that he shouldn't have had to, but a lot more than most soldiers. May have been in the army at some point, judging by his posture, but a long time ago.

That look in their eyes made Sherlock think back to yesterday, trying desperately to remember what had happened. He couldn't just have forgotten, which suggested that someone had drugged him. The business card meant he'd seen someone from here so these people had probably done it. That meant he'd seen something he shouldn't have.

At that point they were given question papers which stopped him thinking about it again. Sherlock finished in under a minute. Boring and easy. Although he almost wished he'd remembered what John had told him about the solar system now.

The other men were glaring at him but he didn't pay any attention to them. New York had even more idiots than London. Especially these men.

Bored, bored, bored.

It felt like years before the assorted army men finished their papers.

The boss walked in again, gave Sherlock a look then spoke.

"Right, gentlemen, on to the next test"

The men all walked out quickly after him. Sherlock rolled his eyes and traipsed after them, taking in the location of every door on the impeccable white corridor.

"The next task is for you to shoot the things you consider to be threats" he said, gesturing at a table with enough guns for them.

The man walked out of the room again and the lights flashed. Sherlock watched cardboard cutouts of monsters, possibly aliens, swing forward. The one on the right looked familiar, might have been from one of the crap television shows John watched. He deduced all of them quickly.

Sherlock watched the other men shoot repeatedly but didn't even raise the gun.

"Well done, gentlemen," the older man walked in as the lights came up. "Except Holmes. What the hell?"

"None of them are a threat." Sherlock shrugged.

His eyes narrowed. "Right then, gentlemen, one last test and you can all go home"

A man who looked vaguely familiar stood in front of Sherlock, stopping him from following the rest of the group.

"Ah, so I didn't fail. Of course, I never thought I had." Sherlock said.

"I could be here to escort you out." he was an older man, voice of a former smoker, lived alone and had been working here for decades, probably since the sixties.

"You're not though, are you? You want to separate me from those idiots and leave them to whatever happens in that room, which presumably is what you, or at least someone who works here, did to me yesterday"

He took his sunglasses off and stared at Sherlock, who just gave a smirk of satisfaction.

"Well done." he said finally.

"So what am I actually doing here? Other than the obvious."

"Congratulations. You're now an agent of of the Men In Black."


	3. Chapter 3

**Ack, super short chapters. Really sorry, thought I better update this since i haven't in a while and I thought this was longer. The next one will be longer, I promise...**

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Ah. So thats what MiB was. Sherlock sorted through his mind for anything about them. Some conspiracy theorist had come to him with the usual nonsense a few years ago. Claiming to have been abducted by aliens when he was on holiday in America. Said that his mind had been... Altered. Like he'd had days erased. Thought it was the work of some top secret organisation. Sherlock had just thought he was another idiot, dying for attention. In retrospect, he probably should have listened to the man.

"You police alien activity in the USA and make sure civilians don't know about it."

The agent looked at him again. "You're smart, kid."

"Does everyone here state the obvious too?"

He turned and glared at Sherlock before continuing to walk down the corridor.

"So who are you?"

"Agent K"

"And that's some kind of code name?"

K ignored him and kept walking down the corridor until they reached another door, seemingly identical to the rest.

"I'm going to get coffee, do you want coffee?" he said apparently following some kind of routine.

Sherlock remembered the horrible tea he'd had yesterday and wondered if it would be any better here. "Have you got any tea?"

K shrugged and opened the door.

Stood on the table next to the coffee machine, laughing, were creatures. That was the only way to describe them. Not even vaguely humanoid.

"Hi K!" they all said simultaneously in a drunken tone .

Sherlock's eyes widened and he had to stop his jaw dropping.

Something told him life was going to get a lot less boring...


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is just 500 words of pure fluff and Anderson-bashing. Why? Because i felt like it. Just going to say that this has Zed in it as boss instead of O because I preferred Zed. No other reason, O is pretty cool, just not as good as Zed.**

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Several weeks had passed now since Sherlock had joined MiB and for the first time since then his thoughts strayed back to John. How would he have reacted to finding this out? Probably worse than Sherlock, who'd simply been silent for a few seconds before re-composing himself again and asking those little bug creatures (whatever the hell they actually were) for a cup of tea. When Sherlock had asked Zed, the boss of MiB who had conducted the tests, what they were, he'd just shaken his head and muttered 'dirty little ingrates'.

Surprisingly, the tea had actually been quite nice, obviously not as good as his friend's but better than anything else he'd had in his time in America.

He was drinking another cup of this tea as he stared up at the big screen in the main room of the building, now realising how obvious it was that the people on there were extra-terrestrial.

Lady Gaga. Obvious.

That man who presented that TV show that John used to watch in the morning... Jeremy Kyle? Obvious.

Michael Jackson. Ha, Sherlock knew he was still alive but John hadn't believed him. Obvious.

They'd explained to Sherlock how important it was to have no identity. Since he was legally dead anyway, they hadn't found any reason to abbreviate his name like the rest of the agents here but they'd still insisted on removing his finger prints. Sherlock hadn't objected to this at all; if he ever went back home and life got back to what could loosely be called normal, not leaving prints would be useful for when he broke into crime scenes. All the better for annoying Anderson with knowledge of details that he couldn't possibly know.

Sooner or later they'd send him out on a mission, although it had been unusually quiet recently. No random species threatening to destroy earth with a laser, no potentially world ending viruses. This hadn't happened in several decades, apparently. He'd done some small amount of customs work when some of the other agents had been busy but most of the time he'd had to amuse himself.

And somehow, despite the fact he'd changed his phone again, Mycroft was still texting him. Apparently his brother had contacts here as well. Not a large surprise; being ninety percent of the British government had its advantages.

Sherlock went back to looking at the screen. After a second he spat out his tea and laughed.

'_Moira Anderson' _the name highlighted on the screen said._ 'Occupation: London Metropolitan Police'_ Next to the text was a photo of Anderson and a large pink think that resembled some kind of blancmange, also presumably Anderson. Sherlock laughed even harder.

"What the hell's so funny, sport?" Zed said, glaring vaguely at him when he was still laughing several minutes later.

"Moira!"


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock watched the other agents rush around like headless chickens around him. Apparently this was just a usual day, it had just been quiet since he'd joined.

"Aren't you gonna ask what's happening?" J said, still vaguely shocked by the newest agents calmness.

Sherlock shook his head. "Something has invaded, is threatening to invade, has released some form of plague or possibly Zed has just spilt his coffee all over the main computer. Again." Sherlock didn't really approve of the older agents, especially Zed, always absorbed with the past and not really paying attention to the important details. They were worse everyone at Scotland Yard at home but fortunately just as amusing to irritate and mock.

"J, Holmes! Get your sorry asses over here!" Zed yelled.

J rolled his eyes and they both walked to where Zed and K were stood.

"We're in the middle of a crisis and all you two can do is talk about coffee!"

Sherlock smirked vaguely at the senior agent's irritation.

"This isn't funny, Holmes, there's a battle fleet above every major city on the planet!"

The tone caught Sherlock's attention.

"London?"

"Yes, London, and _here_ smart ass."

Sherlock shook off the thoughts of home and refocused. "What do we do?"

There were steps behind him which stopped abruptly.

"The great Sherlock Holmes, asking a question. Never thought I'd live to see this." An Irish-accented voice said.

Sherlock spun around to his smug-faced nemesis. "You?"

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**Ok, really sorry this has taken so long, also sorry that its so short. As I explained, my iPod was stolen. I have a new one now and stuff. So here's a chapter, hopefully I'll get a new one up soon, thank you for your patience.**


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